


raindrops underneath my skin

by Lire_Casander



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gun Violence, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jesse Manes is His Own Warning, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: heʼs always known that michael guerin smelled like raindrops on his skin
Relationships: Alex Manes/Forrest Long (mentioned), Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	raindrops underneath my skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skrtl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skrtl/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Jassi! I know today hasn't started in the best way, and this angst is probably not much, but I hope it helps you. I love you so much, you wouldn't even believe it.
> 
> Beta'ed by the amazing [Nix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderngenius94), who's gone through it in record time!

Alex Manes has always loved the smell of rain, the sound of drops hitting glass, the feeling of belonging whenever the storm poured over him. 

He never understood why, until he met Michael Guerin. 

There was always a lingering scent whenever he touched Michael, and he craved that feeling like an addict craves their high. 

**[2016]**

Alex doesn’t know how it starts, he just knows _when_. It all becomes when he’s nonchalantly tracing patterns on Guerin’s back while both of them are on a bed in one cheap motel right off the road outside Roswell, after— _after_.

“Why are you still in Roswell?” he asks in what he thinks is a neutral tone, his fingers drawing a circle between Guerin’s shoulder blades. “I thought you’d be halfway through your undergrad by now.”

Alex doesn’t know how his words can be misinterpreted — Guerin should have run off to UNM, he should have left Roswell behind, he should have taken off and never looked back. He should have abandoned their personal hell.

“Why do you care, Alex?” Guerin asks, twisting on the bed until he’s on his back. Alex withdraws his hand, suddenly feeling as though his touch wouldn’t be welcome. “I never left Roswell because I simply didn’t want to. That should be enough.”

“I just don’t get why you wouldn’t want to leave Roswell,” Alex tries to explain, and somehow his words only worsens whatever it is that’s going on between them. “You had a full ride to UNM, and yet you turned that down and remained in this black hole. Help me understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand, Alex!” Guerin scoots as away from him as possible in the narrow bed. Alex has profusely apologized for the quality of the place they’re spending their first weekend together in months — after all, his income as a mere soldier with no rank doesn’t allow him to afford extravagant getaways, and Guerin doesn’t make much even with his two jobs as a ranch hand and a mechanic for Sanders. 

“I think there is,” he insists, and even as he’s speaking, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say, again. Guerin is closing off, recoiling against the wall as though Alex is physically attacking him. “You should be learning how to create space ships, not how to fix car engines.”

“How—how do you know about the space ships?” Guerin questions. He’s suddenly defensive, crawling up against the wall. 

“I saw you drawing blueprints for space ships those nights you spent at the tool shed,” Alex whispers. The mere mention of the place, even so many years later, still sends shivers up his spine. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Guerin deadpans. “You always think you’re right, but you don’t know anything. I like it here, okay? I want to stay here.”

“And become what?” Alex finally bursts. “I at least I’m doing something with my life, even if it means reenlisting. You’re just getting wasted in between shifts at Sanders.”

“You’re reenlisting?” Guerin slumps back onto the bed for a second before sliding off it and standing on his feet. “You didn’t say anything!”

“I’m telling you now. But what’s important here,” Alex insists, because he’s nothing but stubborn, and he has to make his point come across even if it kills him in the long run. “What’s important here is that I have the feeling that you’re wasting your life, Guerin, when you could be out there being brilliant!”

He watches as his words sink into Guerin’s mind, and he instantly regrets them when Guerin takes a step backward, putting more space between them that Alex finds acceptable in their current state of nakedness.

“If I’m such a loser, then why do you want to be with me?” Guerin says in a low voice, but Alex feels the words as though they’ve been yelled in the middle of a deadly silence. “If you think that I’m wasting my life, then why are you still here? Go back to your cherished Army. That’s what you do all the time.”

“It’s Air Force,” Alex whispers. He doesn’t know what compels him to actually correct Michael on that tiny detail when he’s being accused of — he isn’t even sure what he’s being accused of.

“Does it matter?” Guerin shakes his head, his curls catching the last rays of sun and gleaming with a tinge of amber. “You’re leaving, again. And you’re shielding yourself behind me!”

“I’m not shielding behind anyone or anything, Guerin!” Alex screams this time, frustrated. Nothing he’s saying comes out the way he intends his words to be said, and Michael is getting angrier by the second. Not that Alex doesn’t deserve his anger — after all, he’s the one always leaving. “This is my fucking life now, and it’s too bad that one of us had to give his dreams up!”

Guerin groans. “You didn’t give your dreams up!” he screams. “You just followed your father’s order like the good little soldier you are, a true Manes man.”

“You know that’s not what happened, Guerin,” Alex manages to say when Guerin quiets. “You know I had no other choice but to go where my father told me to go. You know why I did it.”

“I _did_ understand, back then,” Guerin tells him. He’s calmer now, but his words still feel like punches. “But not now. Not now, Alex. You keep saying that I’m wasting my life, but you know, I have the feeling it’s _you_ who’s wasting his.”

Alex watches on as Guerin flitters around the room, almost nonchalantly, picking up his too-worn jeans and his over-used shirt, getting dressed slowly, deliberately. Alex watches as Guerin grabs his wallet and his keys from the filthy table at the other end of the room, and walks to the door. When he has his hand on the knob, Guerin turns around and gives Alex one last look before opening the door and stepping outside, into the rain that has begun pouring sometime during their argument.

Alex simply lets him go.

When the door closes behind Guerin, Alex crawls back under the covers and hides his face in the pillow as he allows the tears he’s been holding back out. It always ends up the same between them — one of them walks away in a thunder of loud screaming and unspoken truths, the other stays put as all hell unravels, and both are wrecked in the wake of the devastation that ensues. Alex doesn’t want to keep doing this anymore, but he doesn’t know how to stop Guerin from lashing out every single time he doesn’t want to share his secrets. Alex doesn’t know how to stop _himself_ from hurting Guerin, when he’s aching himself. He sniffles and a smell that he’s come to associate with Guerin fills his nostrils — raindrops and earth and petrichor — and it just makes him grieve for something he shouldn’t have tasted in the first place. He shouldn’t have known how it felt to be happy, because now he can’t go a single day more without Guerin and the safety his unspoken feelings give him. So he allows himself to cry in the bed he’s paid for with his flimsy salary and he falls asleep on tear-stricken cheeks and shaky hands.

When he wakes up, the sheets still smell like they’ve been soaked in the rain.

**[2017]**

One minute they’re laughing and joking about Kentrell going back home in a few days, and the next everything comes up in flames in the middle of a desert. 

It wasnʼt supposed to end like this, with him trapped underneath the rubble and debris of a building collapsed on him. He should have been paying more attention. He should have been monitoring the area. He should have done a lot of things differently. 

“So whatʼre you going to do first when you get back? Apart from greeting your fiancée six ways till Sunday,” Grotts is joking, his whole body shaking with laughter as they make their way through what seems like a ghost town in the desert surrounding Baghdad. 

Alex should have known better than to allow himself to be distracted by the mirth exuding off Kentrell at the mere prospect of holding his girl in his arms. Alex has been too wrapped up in his own feelings — in the way he last left Michael, both angry at the world and themselves for only giving halves instead of loving fully — that he misses the signs, obvious to any observer. 

The ground is too even to belong to the desert, but he ignores that fact as he leads his team to an abandoned building where they should set camp and begin working on the intel they should be gathering from the enemy once theyʼre done with putting up their spying system. They need a calm and safe space to work their magic, and Alex is leading the field operation now. 

The sound of cracking underneath his boot freezes him on the spot. He looks down but he doesn’t see anything. He tries moving his foot, and when he lifts it from the ground nothing happens. 

“Donʼt be paranoid, Captain,” Grotts jokes. “This is abandoned. I donʼt think they left IEDs buried on the ground on their wake.” 

“Never underestimate your enemy,” he grunts, placing his firearm on his hip. “There,” he points out a building by the end of the deserted street theyʼre strolling now. “Letʼs go.” 

And itʼs in that moment that all hell breaks loose. 

The first shots come from somewhere at their right, leaving them with virtually no space for covering and shielding from the attack. They run in formation, the way theyʼve been taught so long ago in Basic, but after a few more bullets around them they all forget about training and it becomes a game of chicken, except this time theyʼre not running toward each other — theyʼre running for their lives. 

Alex manages to push Kentrell inside a building, and grabs Grotts by the hem of his fatigues, successfully dragging him with them. He wants to go out and take Joster and Smith, but the former is nowhere to be seen and the latter is lying on a puddle of blood in the middle of the street. He knows there are so many reasons why he should stay put, using the radio to find help, but Alex Manes has never been one to follow orders, not if his life and his teamʼs lives depended on his wit. 

So, against his best judgment and leaving behind the shrieks of Grotts and Kentrell urging him to stop, Alex steps out of the shield the building offers and makes a beeline for Smith. 

He doesn’t make it there. 

There’s a searing pain as heʼs hit by a bullet on his right side. He lifts a hand to his flesh, and his fingers come out covered in red blood. He’s numb somehow — the shock of being shot, his mind supplies, because itʼs not his first rodeo in the desert and it will certainly not be his last sound — but he manages to reach Smith and drag him to the building even with a bullet piercing his insides. 

He doesn’t notice the uneven ground under his feet until itʼs too late. With his injury and his blood loss, it’s difficult for him to walk a straight line with Smith as a dead weight in his unconsciousness, so he ends up against a wall instead of through the door from which Grotts and Kentrell are covering for them. Alex huffs as he tries to sneak closer to the building when he hears the loud _click_ underneath his feet. 

The detonation isn’t like anything heʼs ever heard or seen — or felt — in his whole life. 

He isn’t granted the mercy of losing consciousness afterwards, so heʼs painfully aware of the pain tearing up his lower body. Something’s happened down there because Alex canʼt really feel his right leg, but when he thinks about it, he canʼt even feel his body. He cradles Smith closer to his chest, not noticing that heʼs holding a corpse instead of a breathing human being. 

The bullets keep coming. Joster shows up out of nowhere, covered in blood that Alex wants to ask about, but his mouth isn’t cooperating. So Alex remains silent as heʼs hauled over Josterʼs shoulder and thrown unceremoniously inside the building. 

“Heʼs still alive,” he hears Joster saying. “But Iʼm not sure for much longer.” 

“Dammit!” Kentrell complains. “It was supposed to be an easy mission! What about Smith?” 

“Gone,” Joster confirms. “We need to get him out of here or weʼre losing him. We canʼt afford—weʼve got to get out of here.” 

The shooting doesn’t stop for a while, although Alex loses track of time in between slipping in and out of consciousness. Heʼs aching, his whole body on overdrive to compensate for the blood loss, but from time to time he manages to utter a few words that make sense only to him. 

“Gimme the rain,” he slurs. “I wanna smell the rain.” 

Kentrell covers his mouth to prevent him from speaking when the shooting stops and the footsteps approach. Alex is too out of it to fully understand whatʼs going on, but he knows that he should remain quiet even in this state of mind. Joster and Grotts aim and shoot several times, not caring anymore about giving up their location. 

“We have to get going!” Kentrell exclaims. “Weʼre losing him!” 

Joster yells that itʼs safe to go outside, and the three of them drag Alex from their ha en into the street where there are a few scattered bodies among the ruins of what should have been a beautiful town. Alex canʼt see anything, shielded behind his team and Kentrell readjusts the tourniquet on his leg — he doesn’t know when or how Kentrell has put it on his flesh to stop his blood from coming out. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to come up with something witty, but suddenly he feels too tired, the mere thought of _thinking_ an insurmountable task. 

“Whereʼs the rain?” he asks, words not being what they should, but he canʼt help himself. He needs the reassurance. He needs his raindrops and his petrichor and the scent of storm on the sheets where he’s been happy with Michael. 

He associates the smell of rain with Michael Guerin for some reason, and right now as he understands that he might very well be dying, all Alex Manes wants to do is holding out his hands for the pouring rain to wash over him.

“I donʼt know what youʼre talking about, Manes,” Kentrell whispers. “Just stay with me and give yourself the chance to explain this gibberish about rain to me. Stay with me, Manes.” 

Alex wants to, he really does. But his eyelids feel heavier than ever and his whole body weighs a ton. He inhales, a shaky intake of breath that leaves him exhausted, and his last conscious thought — right after realizing that heʼs either coming back to a Purple Heart or in a coffin — is to the only person in the world who he hopes might miss him when heʼs gone. 

“Take me to the rain,” he mutters one more time before giving into the darkness. 

**[2019]**

Alex knows he isn’t being honest, neither with himself nor with this blue-haired History nerd who happens to be a former soldier as well. He knows he can’t give Forrest his whole heart.

He tries, anyway.

He goes on dates with him. He shares hamburgers with him, and laughs when Forrest tells him, with his nose all scrunched up in disgust, that he’s killing those poor fries by dipping them into the milkshake. He goes for long walks with Buffy and plays fetch with her. He goes as far as thinking about meeting Forrest’s family — minus his cousin Wyatt, because Alex is sure he’d give in to the temptation of punching him in the face — but Alex always finds one excuse or the other to never have the time to do so.

Today is one of those rare days when Alex has allowed himself to just _be_ with Forrest, and theyʼre sharing milkshakes and fries in a booth at the Crashdown. Alex is laughing so hard at something Forrest has said — because damn, the guy is fun — when Liz drops another side dish of fries and a Green Man milkshake in front of them. 

“Liz,” Alex interrupts whatever Forrest is saying now. “We havenʼt ordered these.” 

“Tell that to _him_ ,” Liz replies, pointing over her shoulder to the bar. “Enjoy.” 

Alex meets Michael’s gaze staring back at them with an undecipherable light in them. He wants to stand up and walk over there to tell Michael that he has no right to do whatever it is heʼs doing, but Forrestʼs hand on his grounds Alex immediately to this here and this now. 

“I know itʼs hard,” Forrest says evenly. “But you have to accept kindness from your friends from time to time.” 

Alex sighs. Of course Forrest would be understanding — his boyfriend doesn’t have the whole picture of how Alex is drawn to Michael and Michael can’t seem to remain away from Alex. Itʼs both refreshing and terrifying, this game of hide and seek they’re playing — refreshing because it reminds him of their teen years when everything seemed as simple as deciding whether or not they should go to the desert to make out, and terrifying because heʼs in love with someone else while his boyfriend is literally sitting in front of him. 

Itʼs the first time in his life that heʼs got himself a boyfriend, officially, and heʼs ruining it because heʼs pining for someone else who isn’t Forrest. 

“Letʼs get out of here,” he says instead of acknowledging the bright pink elephant in the room, the question ready to be asked on Forrestʼs tongue. He stands up, throws a few bills over the table, and offers his hand to Forrest. “Letʼs go back to my place.” 

Forrest follows him with a confused laugh. 

Itʼs not until much later that Alex realizes that there’s a titillating light on his laptop, signaling that heʼs got a new notification. He notices it on his way back from his front door, after having kissed Forrest goodbye while his traitorous mind supplied him with images of Michael smiling and kissing him back. He frowns, both at himself for the way heʼs allowing his heart to take over his life, and for the unread notification on his screen. 

He clicks on it, and wishes he hadn’t. 

There’s a whole new document transcribed and synched from the Caulfield hard drives. He peruses the screen, skimming for details of one nature or the other, when he sees the lines at the bottom of the page. 

“Shit,” he winces as he speaks, reading out loud Project Shepherdʼs plan to destroy, yet again, all alien life on Earth and beyond. 

This paper is dated merely a few weeks ago. 

He needs to think quickly, because he knows theyʼre running out of time here. Maybe if he were inside, maybe if he could convince his father — but he knows itʼs too late for that. His father already knows heʼs fighting for his friends. 

However, Alex decides that offering a deal isn’t out of the question — if he can trade himself for his friendsʼ safety, so be it, because he knows nothing will ever stop Jesse Manes from his quest to free the world of invasions, except for his younger son being at his complete mercy. 

With his mind set on saving Michael in any way he can, even if itʼs a crazy idea leading to a known death, Alex makes sure his father knows heʼs aware of his plans — he writes a few lines and hovers the cursor over them as he decides which way is better to let his tracks uncovered. He hates doing exactly the opposite of what heʼs supposed to do — being careful and working in tandem with the rest of the gang — but he has the feeling in his gut that this is the only way. 

He hits _send_ and sits back into the chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard, deciding his next steps. He knows he doesn’t have much time left, but he doesn’t want to give his father the chance to take him without a fight.

He’s armed and ready when the door bursts open, a string of masked figures breaking into his house. He manages to shoot some of them, avoiding the noise thanks to his muffler, but he runs out of bullets too soon, and the men keep trailing into his house. It’s a miracle no one notices, but Alex hasn’t been waiting on anyone to rescue him. He’s not a damsel in distress. He’s the master of his own fate.

He fights with his bare hands until he receives a low blow in his right leg and he loses his balance.

Jesse Manes stands tall in front of him, the barrel of his gun pointing at Alex, an unreadable look on his face. Alex grunts when someone kicks his own arm out of his hand, but soon enough heʼs being cuffed, hands at his back, and his own father is smirking down at him. 

“You really thought you could outsmart me, Alexander?” he growls. 

Alex doesn’t want to tell him that his men would have never been able to take him down if Alex hadnʼt been willing to be defeated. He’s a survivor. He doesn’t get caught unless he allows it. 

Jesse Manes doesn’t need to know that, and he certainly doesn’t act like he does. He simply lifts the gun above Alex’s head and drops the firearm forcefully on his own sonʼs temple. 

Alex cries in pain as a second blow meets his skull. 

Then his world becomes dark, and his last thought isn’t Forrest. Alex fights against unconsciousness for a bit longer, until darkness wins the battle, and the last thing he sees in his mind is one rebel curl against a sweaty forehead. The last thing he feels is the smell of rain washing over him as he starts to fall into the abyss.

**[2020]**

Forrest doesn’t stay long, afterward. He says he can’t stay, he has an excuse ready about having to go back to the Long Ranch for something. Alex knows the truth, though — after what Forrest has seen, after what they’ve all lived through, Alex knows Forrest isn’t coming back. And as much as he should be pained about it, the only thing Alex will miss from his relationship with Forrest is his own interactions with Buffy. 

There’s something about that beagle that makes Alex want to protect her even though Buffy could tear anyone into shreds if she feels just an ounce threatened.

“Uh,” he hears at his back. He’s still staring at the door, still ajar because Forrest hasn’t even stomped his way out of the house. Alex sighs. He isn’t ready for whatever shit Guerin is about to spew now.

“Listen, Guerin,” he starts, not even bothering to turn around. “I don’t want to hear your bullshit. I’m exhausted. I don’t even have the strength to be mad at you for this.”

“So somehow this is my fault,” Guerin says. He’s stepped forward so now he’s standing next to Alex, but Alex doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to talk to Michael Guerin of all people.

“Just leave, Guerin,” Alex demands in a low voice that comes out of his throat shakier than he would have wanted it to. “I want to be alone.”

“You shouldn’t,” Guerin insists. He isn’t budging.

Alex finally turns to his left and stares into Guerin’s eyes, which are searching his face with a glint in them that Alex has never seen before. It feels like he’s seeing Michael Guerin for the first time, after twenty years, as though he has never _really_ seen him before. “What do you want me to say, Guerin?” he finally explodes. 

“I don’t _want_ you to do anything,” Guerin tries to speak, but Alex doesn’t want him to say anything else. He doesn’t want to hear any further. 

“Aren’t you happy now?” Alex blurts out, averting his gaze. “You have everything you want now. You have your answers. You have all the pieces of your ship. Why are you still here hovering over me when you could be building your way out of this planet?”

“Because,” Guerin shrugs. Not even after everything they’ve been through is Michael Guerin willing to give Alex answers or explanations. 

“Get out,” he whispers. “Get out of my house, Guerin. I don’t want you here. _You_ don’t want to be here.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to do,” Guerin says in an even voice. It’s the calmest Alex has seen him ever since the tool shed — for ten years Alex has always watched as Michael Guerin destroyed himself with alcohol and bar brawls, fighting his ghosts throwing punches into thin air. This is not the same Michael Guerin he’s seen undone on the Wild Pony’s floor after one too many drinks. This Michael Guerin seems changed. 

“I really want to be alone,” Alex mutters. “Everyone else has left. Hell, even you’ve left me before. Why can’t you do it now?”

“Because you’ve just seen your father go up in flames!” Guerin exclaims. There’s a twitch in his hands, otherwise limp at his sides, but that’s the only movement in his whole body. It seems as though Guerin is fighting to remain still. “Because he got you trapped and he tortured you to get information on _us_ , you self-sacrificing idiot!”

Alex sighs again. Memories of what’s happened rush to the front of his mind — the weeks he’s spent locked in a cell, the uncountable times he’s been dragged around the ground without his prosthesis, the pain he still recalls whenever he closes his eyes and the darkness claims him. He doesn’t want to delve into it right now, but he has no other choice as Guerin stands by his side, not wavering once.

“I had to do it,” he states simply. He can’t look away — he hasn’t been able to, not in ten years, and he knows he won’t be able to for as long as he lives. “You know I had to.”

“No, you didn’t,” Guerin retaliates. For once in his life he’s being a voice of reason, and Alex hates how right he is. Alex hadn’t had to sacrifice himself for them, but he’s always been willing to put himself on the line for Guerin. “You just thought it’d be okay, you giving yourself to Project Shepherd so they could tear you apart in pieces. What were you thinking, Alex? Why didn’t you think about how that would affect us?”

“I was thinking of you!” Alex cries out. He hasn’t moved in the whole time they’ve talked, and he’s sweating through his t-shirt from the strenuous effort of standing on his prosthetic leg for so long after so many days going without. “I’m always thinking of you! You’d have everything you’ve been looking for, answers for your questions, your mom’s story, your ship! You wouldn’t need me!”

“I’ll always need you!” Michael finally budges, taking a step forward and entering Alex’s personal space. “Why do you think I agreed to leave my mother behind in Caulfield? Why do you think I traded everything I’ve researched for your freedom? Why do you think I followed your father and blew everything up when you were finally safe and sound?”

“Because you’re a hero,” Alex tells him. “Believe it or not, you’re not the bad guy, Guerin.”

“Not so long ago, you believed I was wasting my life,” Guerin chuckles. “You even told me that you thought I was brewing meth in my trailer.”

Alex doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know where Guerin is going with all this chatter when all Alex wants to do is be left alone and lick at his wounds. His boyfriend has just broken up with him after learning that Alex has been pining after an _alien_ , and everyone else has walked away after checking Alex was going to be okay, albeit a bit sore. He doesn’t understand why Michael Guerin of all people is staying when Alex has been leaving him over and over and over again.

“You’re the real hero here, Alex,” Guerin shakes his head as he speaks. “I just had handy powers to fight in there. I’m a killer. I just—we were supposed to get in, take you out, and let it be, but I—I saw you in there, and you were bleeding out. Alex, you were bleeding out. I didn’t think. I _couldn’t_.” 

He trails off, and Alex allows himself to watch Guerin’s features as he grows silent, as though he’s recalling what happened inside the facility his own father had him locked up in. There had been a fight — Alex had heard the ruckus caused by Guerin’s powers going haywire in order to get them through the haze of soldiers trying to stop them while Max and the Cameron sisters shot their way out of the building. He doesn’t remember much, though, except for the fact that he’s woken up calling Guerin’s name when the one holding his hand has been Forrest.

Alex will never forget the pain crossing Forrest’s eyes as he realized he wasn’t who Alex needed.

He’d never stood a chance against Michael Guerin.

It’s like Alex is always drawn to him, no matter how much he tries to fight it. But it works the other way around, apparently, even if Alex is just now acknowledging it — Guerin always comes when he calls, Guerin’s always there for him, even through the worst of times, even when he should have refused, even when Alex has turned his back on him. They’re pulled together by some sort of magnetic force that neither can fight.

“Forrest isn’t coming back,” he says, instead of replying to what Michael has been saying. There’s an underlying question he doesn’t dare to ask.

They’ve been through a lot together, and apart, but Alex doesn’t know where they stand anymore. He isn’t sure if they’re friends, if they’re acquaintances, or if they’re two guys who hooked up once under the guise of it being star crossed when it had only been an ill-advised teenage decision.

He truly wants the star crossed part to be true, though.

“Maria isn’t waiting for me,” Guerin confesses. “Hasn’t, for a long time. Ever since you left the Airstream that last time.”

Alex nods, but he doesn’t know what he’s nodding off to.

“I know—” Guerin begins, only to cut himself off. Alex encourages him with a small wave of his hand. “I know I have no right to ask anything of you but—I just—”

“Let’s go sit down,” Alex offers when it’s evident that Guerin is struggling with his words. He turns around and doesn’t wait for Guerin to follow. He simply flops down on his couch when he reaches the living room and smiles when Guerin sits down next to him. “I think we need to heal, Michael,” he whispers, saying that name for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. “Both of us.”

“Can we do it together?” Guerin whispers back, fingers drumming on his knee nervously. Alex reaches out and touches his skin slightly, placing his own hand on top of Guerin’s and effectively stopping his motions.

“I’d very much like to,” he says, intertwining their fingers. He leans into Guerin’s warmth and inhales deeply, noticing that there are no traces of alcohol or acetone. 

He allows the scent of rain surround him as he hides his face in Guerin’s neck, sighing contentedly into the soft flesh.


End file.
